I was a girl, all of twenty.
I was broken by what appeared to be my first “heartbreak”.
Not the first literally, but the first one from a person who I thought was my own.
Own not by blood ties, own by fate, by what the world likes to call attraction as- Love.
Tormented and delusional, I even had what some would like to quote as “suicidal thoughts”.
Not that I was brave enough to take my own life or cowardice enough to stop all the pain,
I wanted to drown my hurt with a bigger suffering.
I wanted to feel after a period of going numb with utter refusal to believe the “why” and the “how”.
I wanted to SEE my agony.
You see, time has a cycle; it repeats itself periodically though often not harmonically.
I was a vanquished girl of twenty two.
I was made to believe there were still parts in me that was loveable.
The feeling infused by another person who was also broken.
Somehow our cracks fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and I believed that we are one.
Did not realize that the “fault lines” still existed.
Few years of telling happiness, relief of parents, jealous sighs from peers, silent admiration from friends- this was a match tailored to perfection.
We laughed occasionally, complained how we were too perfect, how we never found fault in each other.
Our wish came true. We lost our love.
He stopped finding reason in our relationship.
I thought come what may, we will never grow apart.
My illusion broke two years back
He had found an escape in someone else.
Though agonised, he robbed me off the chance of labelling him a “cheat”, of failing me.
Because his “condition” was supposedly due to me.
My tears did not complete it’s shedding.
I was standing at a crossroad where I did not know whether I deserved pity or needed self analysis.
I thought of disclosing the news in the mildest possible manner, to protect him from the scathings.
All I got in return were pointy fingers, accusing me; forcing me into oblivion where no one could find me,
And most importantly put all the blame on me.
I am the ruins of a girl at twenty eight.
I am an appreciation seeker, a care-monger, hungry for genuine affection.
Four years into my previous long-standing relationship, the complains started pouring in.
I kept drifting from one care to another; to compensate.
Though I never sought refuge in a shade that was available; since the commitment meant my life.
I thought our differences would sort out and that we could be together again.
But the pressure built around the cracks and there was an eruption;
It broke the joint; I was cracked again.
But this time, the split ate away a substantial portion, spreading like a canker further.
It wasn’t heart break. It was heart failure.